I recount my day in exaggerated details. Suddenly when I tell my sister about that meeting I had, I say the words I *should* have said at the time. She laughs. It’s so much better when I say it out loud after the fact. It’s never funny at the moment. But the story grows in to life and life grows in to reality.
Bob and I sit on the kitchen counters most nights and discuss philosophy and self improvement. Why we chose the kitchen counters, I can only guess. In the kitchen near the knives and scalding faucet that doesn’t run cold water (we really need to fix this), it seems like pondering life’s meaning is more thrilling. Death is all around us! We must embrace life before it’s too late! Or until we get third degree burns.
Then again, maybe we sit on the counters because it’s just closer to the wine.
Writers see life as a series of possible parables. Life is a hyperbole. Casual interactions with office mates become hilarious antidotes, sometimes causing me to chuckle to myself listening to a story nobody else hears. My children provide a series of short essays, poems, and entries in the DSM-5.
Facebook friends ask to hear the story behind vague updates. They reply saying, “Oh, but it would’ve been such a good story.” And then it hits me. WHAT IF I DID THOSE THINGS?
What if I lived my story in real time and not after the fact? What if I made the choice BECAUSE it would be a good story?
People live a year of the bible. They strive for a year of this or that. Why not make the choice, once a day, to live because of the story?
So, Here is it. A year of living for the story.
Every day I will attempt one good “story”. To push myself to try something simply because it’s a good story. And if I’m lucky, perhaps, I’ll write 365 fun tiny stories. And if I’m not? Please employee the crazy lady in the back of the office because really, she’s highly intelligent and employable and a hard worker, she just had this crazy experiment…
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